


Erased

by dfd2ead02b1abaa7469a7ceed59b18d77cccee8c



Series: Memory [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Crimes & Criminals, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, M/M, Non-Consensual Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-29 13:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21411187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dfd2ead02b1abaa7469a7ceed59b18d77cccee8c/pseuds/dfd2ead02b1abaa7469a7ceed59b18d77cccee8c
Summary: This is a reworked piece I published as a part of a series I titled Memory, which I published under another, now closed, account.Based on an Unsolved Mysteries episode. Arthur wakes up alone, stranded on the side of the road, and unable to remember who he is.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: Memory [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543507
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's pretty bad. I'd turn back now.

The first thing he remembers is the pain shooting through his head. He thinks - though these are the moments that are most hazy - that a loud sound - maybe a car - wakes him, but he can’t quite figure out where it could have come from because by the time he opens his eyes, he is alone. A moan he doesn’t remember uttering breaks the silence as he rolls onto his side, realizing as he moves that he is laying in the dirt. 

The sun is bright white. As his vision clears, he finds a stretch of soft blue sky above him, a few fat clouds hang there. He struggles to sit up, the ache in his body is harsh and intense. There’s a prairie of wild grass stretching before him as far as he could see. A slight breeze runs through the grass, and he can smell the prairie - a mix of dirt and pollen, of stale and fresh odors. 

He cranes his neck behind him, finding a gravel road. With much effort, he stands and walks to the edge of the road and looks in both directions. There are no buildings, no people, no cars. There is no human life as far as he can see. He listens for a moment and hears nothing. He realizes he is alone. 

He replayed that moment in his mind many times, trying to will his memory back - maybe just a few more seconds - back to a time when he remembered who he was. 

***

The sun was overhead, so he couldn’t tell the direction of the road. He looked down at his body, and a cold river of fear ran through him. He realized he did not have any idea what his body should look like because he had no idea who he was. He scanned his clothes - he was wearing a button-down shirt and grey slacks. The fear inside him grew deeper as he realized that dirt, and maybe blood, stained his shirt. 

He took a deep breath and pushed the river of fear deep inside his chest.

He moved his hands - he knew them only as his because they moved when he wanted them to - and felt his body, hoping touch would jog the memory of who he was. But nothing came to him. The side of his head throbbed. He ran his fingers along his face where the pain was sharpest finding a gash stretching from the cheekbone to his hairline. 

He checked the pockets of his pants. They were empty but for a small strip of paper with a 10-digit number on the back. He read the number to himself - 8325558506 - or maybe the last 8 was a sloppy 3, he thought. Either way, the numbers didn’t trigger his memory, so he slipped it back into his pocket and looked back to the road. 

He reasoned that he found the paper in his right pocket which must mean he was right handed, and that was as good a reason as any to start walking to the right. He walked with his head down. Although it hadn’t seemed hot before, the sun was blazing now, and he could feel sweat beading along his hairline. His hair fell around his eyes and he realized that he hadn’t known his hair was black.

He listened to the  _ sloop sloop  _ sound caused by his shoes passing through the gravel and thought more about his predicament. He realized he didn’t know his name, and thought it might be an easy problem to tackle first. He tested a few in his head.  _ Anthony _ .  _ Brian _ .  _ Charles.  _ But nothing sounded right.

After a few more names, he gave up. There were too many names to test. He checked behind him periodically, each time finding an empty road. He wondered if he would ever remember who he was. And he couldn't help but wonder what kind of man could he be if he found himself alone on a country road left for dead. The muscles in his neck and shoulders grew tired from being so tense. 

He continued like this for some time, until from behind him, he heard a rumbling. He turned and found a car driving toward him. 

He waved his arms above his head. The car was moving quickly toward him and he could see that it was black, an older model car. An old cadillac, maybe. As it came closer to him, it slowed to a stop and he ran to the passenger side to find an older man with salt and pepper hair and bright brown eyes considering him through the windshield. The man pressed a button on the door and passenger window rolled down.

“You ok?” the man yelled out from the car. 

He tried moving his mouth, but his throat was dry and he barely managed a whisper. The elderly man eyed him curiously. 

“You’re not looking so good. Where are you headed?”

He pointed in the direction he’d been walking before. 

The man didn’t respond. His eyebrows pinched together and he looked away for a moment. Then he leaned over the seat and pulled the passenger door open.

“I can take you to town. That’s it.”

He nodded and climbed into the car. The man eyed him for a second then bent to fish something from under the car seat. The man handed him a bottle. 

“Water,” he said. 

He took the bottle from the man and drank quickly, water spilling from the side of his mouth. The man shifted the car into gear and started driving again. 

“I’m Jerry,” he said, then watched him. When he offered no response, Jerry asked “What’s your name?” He said the words slowly, as if he were dumb. 

He coughed, trying to test his voice. “I don’t know,” he whispered. 

Jerry looked at him surprised, then turned back to the road. “Oh,” Jerry said. They were quiet for a moment. He looked out of the window, hoping something might look familiar. 

“Are you from around here?” Jerry asked after a few moments.

“I don’t know,” he answered again. Then, “Where is here?” he asked. 

“We’re right outside of Hempstead, Texas.” 

He nodded, but the name didn’t sound familiar. “What part of Texas is this?”

Jerry looked between him and the road a few times. “We’re right outside of Houston,” he said as if it should be a well-known fact. “The Gulf Coast,” Jerry added. 

His eyebrows pinched together. He tried remembering if he had ever been to Houston, or Texas, even, but it didn’t feel familiar. 

“Is 832 a Houston area code?” he asked Jerry after a few minutes. 

“Yes,” Jerry said. 

So the number in his pocket was local. He felt relieved both relieved that he might know someone here and nervous that nothing looked familiar.

“I’ll take you to North Cypress Hospital up the road.”

He looked to Jerry. He must have looked concerned because Jerry added, “You need to see a doctor.”

“I need a phone.”

Jerry frowned. “I have a cell,” he said and dug in his pocket, pulling out a cell phone. He took the phone and thanked him. 

He fished the paper from his pocket and looked at the number again. He decided the second eight must be an eight and dialed the number into the phone. On the second ring, he heard someone pick up.

“Where are you?” a voice asked into the phone. The voice was young and feminine.

He was taken aback by the abrupt question, and didn't know how to respond. From the driver’s seat, Jerry looked at him. “Everything ok?” Jerry asked. 

He nodded.

“Arthur?” the voice in the phone asked. He wondered if he was Arthur, but name didn’t sound familiar. Another voice in the background - deeper, probably from a male - said something he couldn’t make out. The woman’s voice responded, “It has to be him. He’s the only other person who has this number.”

There was movement on the other side of the phone. Then he heard the man’s voice again, “Arthur is probably dead. Whoever did it probably got the number from him. Hang up.” 

He realized he was holding his breath. There was another movement on the other end of the line. 

“Arthur,” the woman’s voice said again. “Arthur, if that’s you, please say something.”

He swallowed. He wondered if he could trust these voices, but realized he had no choice. 

“Where are you?” he asked into the phone. 

“Arthur,” the woman breathed. “Oh god, Dom thought you were dead. You were supposed to be here two days ago. Where were you?”

He let the silence build as he thought about what to say. Finally, “I was held up.”

“How soon can you be here?” she asked. 

He looked to Jerry, who had been switching his gaze between him and the road. 

“Where are we?” 

“Cypress,” Jerry answered. 

“I’m in Cypress,” he said into the phone. 

“That’s not too far,” she said. “Get here as fast as you can.”

“I need someone to pick me up,” he said quickly. 

“Oh,” she said. “Um,” He heard the phone being placed on a table and then an angry voice - the male voice from before - and another - someone with a British accent - discussing something with the woman, but he couldn't catch what they were saying. He turned to Jerry. Jerry was eyeing him already, and he motioned for Jerry to pull off the highway. He drove toward the exit, then into a parking lot for a shopping center.

He heard the phone move again. “Where are you exactly? I will get you.”

“290 and 8,” Jerry whispered to him.

“290 and 8,” Arthur repeated into the phone.

“Ok,” she said. “We’ll be there in half an hour.”

He hung up the phone and handed it back to Jerry. 

“Thank you for the ride,” he said, and Jerry nodded. 

“You should really wash up,” Jerry said as he stepped out of the car. Arthur nodded and closed the door, then turned toward the storefront. 

He found a bench and sat down. He looked down at his hands, considering them.  _ Arthur’s hands _ , he thought, but he felt like they were empty words, which made his chest ache again. 

He thought about telling the two people who were picking him up about his memory. But then, the man’s words, Dom - he thought he remembered the woman called him that - Dom’s words repeated in his head. “Arthur is dead,” Dom had said, and he wondered who he was and who these people were. 

Then he realized that he might not need to tell them. They would surely realize something was wrong when it was obvious that he didn’t know who he was looking for. He decided to watch the parking lot for cars driving toward him. He knew he was looking for two people, and one was a woman, probably. 

After about 40 minutes, he guessed, he watched as a black sedan pulled into the parking lot. The windows were too dark to see through, but he watched as it weaved through the rows, until it finally turned toward the storefront he was sitting in front of. He could see a woman through the windshield. She had dark brown hair and fair skin and a worried look on her face. 

Their eyes met, and a second later she parked the car. He realized she recognized him. There was no doubt now - he was Arthur.

He stood and walked toward the parked car, where she waited for him. 

“You look terrible,” she said as he sat down. “Maybe you should sit this one out.”

He wished he knew what “this” meant, but he didn’t want to give anything away. 

“I’ll be fine,” he answered. 

She put the car into gear and pulled out from the spot. 

“I don’t want to die because you’re too distracted to do your job.” 

They were quiet for the rest of the drive. Arthur watched as they drove into the city. Houston looked like it was all built in the 1970s - all concrete and straight lines. Nothing struck him as familiar. 

The woman pulled into a parking garage and drove to the bottom floor. Theirs was the only car. She pulled around toward an elevator shaft in the corner, and Arthur spotted a man in a purple button-down shirt and brown slacks watching them as he smoked a cigarette. Arthur looked toward the woman, but she seemed undisturbed. 

He could see the man was muscular. He would be much stronger than him in a fight, but something inside him knew he could hold his own if the man attacked them. Arthur followed the woman to the elevator. She pressed the up button, then turned to the man who was watching them. 

“Coming?” she asked.

The man’s eyes finally left Arthur and looked at the woman. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and held it up. 

“One more.” Arthur recognized the British accent he had heard on the phone. This wasn’t Dom, he realized. 

“Terrible habit,” she said. 

The man turned looked back at Arthur. “Join me, Arthur.”

It came out as a command. Arthur wondered if the man meant it to sound that way. 

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. The woman stepped inside, then pressed one of the buttons. 

“Don’t be too long. Dom is in a terrible mood,” she said. The doors closed again and Arthur looked back to the man. 

“Cigarette?” the man asked, holding the pack toward him. 

Arthur had no idea if he smoked. 

“No, thanks.”

The man put another cigarette in his mouth and lit it. 

“So who gave you that?” he asked with the cigarette dangling from his lips. He gestured to Arthur’s face.

A pang of worry hit Arthur. If he wanted to play it safe, he needed to reveal as little as possible, but of course they would want to know all the details. He tried to think of a likely villain - the mob? 

“I didn’t get a good look,” he said finally, and the man’s brow contorted in confusion.

They were quiet for a moment while the man smoked. 

Then he turned back to Arthur. 

“What do you know about this client?”

Arthur felt the blood rush to his head. He was silent for a moment and the man stared at him, letting the ash of his cigarette fall on the concrete. 

Arthur tried to make his voice confident. “I haven’t had a chance to look into him, yet.”

The man kept his eyes on Arthur as he took a long drag from the cigarette. 

“Hm,” he hummed. After a beat or two of silence, he said, “I’ve been having some trouble with my memory, Arthur. Remind me, what was the last job we worked together?”

The men stared at each other. Arthur’s heart pounded in his ears. He took slow, deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm it. 

“Who was the client from that job?”

Arthur continued looking into his eyes. He could tell the man was putting it together faster than Arthur could come up with a lie. 

“Where did we first meet?” 

Arthur could feel the heat of blood in his cheeks. 

“Christ,” the man whispered. 

Arthur didn’t know what to say. 

“Tell me you know who I am.”

Arthur realized there was no lying about this. The man had put it together. Arthur shook his head. 

The man sighed and rubbed his hand across his forehead. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed. “This is a fucking mess.”

Arthur decided to trust him. “What is  _ this _ ?” Arthur asked. 

“We’re criminals, Arthur.” 

Arthur wondered if the man was joking. 

“Look, normally, I’d say not to trust anyone here. Not even me, but given the circumstances, you don’t have a choice.”

“You’re serious?” Arthur asked, still incredulous. 

“Deadly,” the man answered, he moved closer to Arthur, and lowered his voice. “This job has been fucked from the start. Not only because you didn’t show up and Dom didn’t seem to notice or care.”

They were close enough now that Arthur could smell the cigarettes on the man’s breath. 

“And now you’re here and you don’t remember a goddamn thing.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Arthur whispered. 

The man nodded. “I can’t get into everything now. Dom’s probably already suspicious of how long we’ve been gone. We will have to go up there and convince Dom that you need medical care for that gash.”

Arthur nodded. Eames took another drag of the cigarette and then dropped it on the concrete. 

He walked around Arthur toward the elevator. 

“Let’s go,” he said, pressing the button. Arthur followed him. 

The elevator dinged and the doors opened in front of them. Arthur followed him into the elevator and watched as the man pressed the button for the top floor. 

He turned toward Arthur. 

“I’m Eames, by the way.”

Arthur nodded and then watched the elevator doors close. 

“Nice to meet you,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where the fuck have you been?” 

Arthur didn’t immediately realize the question was directed toward him. He found a man with dirty blond hair and mean eyes staring at him. The woman who drove him was leaning on a desk behind the man. 

He wasn’t sure what his relationship with this man - Dom, he guessed - was, but he found himself growing angry the man’s obvious apathy for his condition. He looked to Eames who seemed to be suggesting something with his eyes, but Arthur couldn’t tell what it was. 

He looked back to the man. 

“Can I get through the door, first?” he answered. 

He quickly glanced at Eames who wore a slight smile on his lips. 

“Thanks for the concern, by the way,” Arthur added. 

“Concern? We’ve been waiting for two days. This job is fucked because of you.”

He considered how he should answer. The aggression seemed to be working. “Obviously I would have been here, ” he said. “I don’t know if you noticed,” he said and gestured to his head. 

Dom took a deep breath and seemed to relax. “I’m sorry,” he said, quieter. “We need to get this job done if we’re ever to get Cobol off our asses.”

Arthur just offered a nod in agreement. 

“Well, I’m not touching anything Arthur touches until the crater on his face is wrapped,” Eames said, stalking past Arthur. 

“I second that,” the woman said. 

Dom huffed. He walked over to Arthur and glanced at the side of Arthur’s head and at his clothes. 

“Go see Yusuf,” Dom said. Arthur glanced to Eames, who was now standing behind Dom. 

“And get blood all over the car?” Eames said. “I’ll drive him.”

Dom turned to Eames. “You have work to do.”

“I can’t start before Arthur anyway,” Eames answered. 

“Fine,” Dom sighed. “But you’re both working double shifts until the end of the job.”

***

Once they’d pulled from the parking garage, Arthur asked, “Who’s Yusuf?” 

Arthur was surprised to see Eames turned toward the highway - away from town.

“Yusuf is our chemist - he makes the chemicals that put us under.”

“Under?”

“You really don’t remember anything,” Eames sighed. After a beat of silence, he continued, “This might sound impossible, but we enter people’s dreams.”

Arthur stared at Eames, who kept his eyes steady on the road. 

“Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”

Eames laughed. “I’m not making this up.”

“Uh huh,” Arthur hummed. “And what do I do in other people’s dreams?”

“You are a point man - you do,” Eames paused for a moment, “a little of everything.”

Eames turned briefly to meet Arthur’s incredulous gaze.

“Finding the space for the job, planning the exits in the dreamscape.” Eames waved one of his hands with each example. 

Arthur watched Eames’ face silently. He thought Eames looked serious enough, but surely it was all a joke. 

“And you?” he asked finally. 

“Forger,” Eames turned to smile at Arthur. “Both outside and in the dream.” Arthur was silent, so Eames continued, “Dom is the extractor - he steals the information from our mark - and Ariadne - the woman who drove you - builds the dream.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence. Arthur gazed through the window as Eames drove, finally navigating the car into the garage of a generic-looking McMansion in the middle of a quiet, suburban neighborhood. He wondered if the neighbors suspected there was a den dream thieves in the neighborhood.

“Whose house is this?” Arthur asked. 

Eames just shrugged. 

He led Arthur into the house through a kitchen and a living area, which had only a few folding chairs and a small table. He led Arthur up a flight of stairs and stopped at a closed door. Eames knocked. 

A man yelled  _ go away  _ through the door. 

“It’s Eames.”

_ Go away,  _ the voice answered again. 

“And Arthur,” Eames yelled. 

There was shuffling from behind the door. A few seconds later a man in a tshirt and sweats with ruffled black curls stood in the doorway. 

“The bloody hell have you been?” he asking to Arthur. 

Eames answered for him, “Held up.”

Yusuf eyed Eames and snorted. “Yeah, well, I just got here 12 hours ago and I’ve got jetlag. Go away.” He turned back to Arthur, “Both of you.”

Eames put his foot in front of the door, blocking Yusuf from closing it. He grabbed Arthur’s chin and gently moved his head to show the gash. 

“Christ,” Yusuf said after seeing the wound. “Bathroom.”

Arthur followed Eames who walked to another room down the hallway. 

Yusuf followed a beat later. 

“Sit,” he said, pointing to the closed toilet. He was wearing latex gloves now and holding a small bag in his other hand. 

“Are you going to stitch him?” Eames asked. 

Yusuf put his gloved hand on Arthur’s chin and examined the wound. 

“It’s too late to stitch.” He looked at Arthur now like it was his fault. “I’ll clean it. I’ll write you a prescription for antibiotics. And you’ll pray to whatever god you believe in that you don’t develop a nasty infection.” 

Yusuf turned to the shower and started running the water. 

“Wash off the dirt,” he commanded Arthur. 

Arthur frowned at Yusuf. He didn’t want to drop to his knees in this small room with two near strangers, and criminals if Eames was to be believed, standing over him. But Yusuf’s expression left no room for negotiation. 

He slipped from the toilet seat to the floor onto a small rug by the bath. The rug was thin and Arthur could feel the hard, cold floor beneath his knees. He leaned over the edge of the tub and slowly moved his face into the running water. It was cold and the wound on his face stung from the contact. 

“That’s enough,” Yusuf said, turning off the water. Arthur let the excess drip into the tub. 

“Here,” Eames said. Then Arthur felt a towel on his face. 

Arthur took the towel from him and then moved back to the toilet. Yusuf had a pair of tweezers in his hand. He started doing something to Arthur’s wound. 

“You’re lucky this is mostly superficial,” Yusuf said. 

Arthur was watching Eames who was standing behind Yusuf. His eyebrows were pinched. Each time Yusuf moved the tweezers Eames’ face flinched. 

Yusuf moved to dressing the wound, explaining to Arthur how and when to clean it. Arthur half listened, nodding every once in a while when he could hear Yusuf was getting frustrated with him. 

“There,” Yusuf said. “Now I’m going to bed. I’ll leave extra dressings here.” He put a pile of gauze on the bathroom counter and left Arthur and Eames in the bathroom. Arthur stood and moved toward the bathroom sink. Eames was leaning on the wall, watching him. 

Arthur looked into the mirror. He knew the face in front of him must be his but he felt no recognition of the features. He was thin with dark eyes and hair. The skin of his face ran tight along his smooth cheekbones. 

“This is what I look like,” he whispered to himself. 

“Exquisite, isn’t it?” Eames answered. 

Arthur found Eames’ was gazing at him in the mirror. After a few seconds, Arthur looked back at his face. 

“I was hoping it would help me remember something.”

Eames pushed himself from the wall. 

“Come on,” Eames said. “Let’s get you a bed.”

He followed Eames downstairs again. They passed through the kitchen and Arthur spotted something on the counter - a piece of paper. He picked it up. Across the top was written: Dr. Yusuf Rushdi. Something was scribbled beneath it. 

Eames stopped when he realized that Arthur had stopped following him. 

“He’s a doctor?” Arthur asked. 

Eames nodded. “Cambridge.”

Arthur hummed in approval. 

A smile spread on Eames’ lips. “He’s not the only one with impressive credentials.”

Eames turned again and Arthur pocketed the prescription, then followed Eames into the garage. Eames tossed him a blow-up mattress, then led him back inside where he gave Arthur a sleeping bag from one of the closets downstairs. 

“Do we always sleep on camping gear?” Arthur asked as Eames led him upstairs. 

“Mostly for long jobs,” Eames answered. “When hotels would be too expensive.”

Eames led Arthur to one of the doors on the opposite end of the hallway. 

“You’re in here,” he said, pushing the door open. “I’m right next door.”  
He led Arthur into a bare room. 

“Get your bed ready, then take a shower. I’ll get you some clothes and move my bed before Dom and Ariadne get here.”

“You’re going to sleep in here?” Arthur asked. His face grew warm; he hoped it didn’t show in the dark room. 

Eames smiled widely. Arthur noted that he did that often. “We won’t be sleeping,” he said. “I’ve got to catch you up on a decade in dreamshare.” 

***

“Do you trust Yusuf?” Arthur asked. They were in his room again, sitting on the floor, backs to the wall. Arthur was wearing the baggy sweats Eames had given him. The two blow-up mattresses sagged in the far corner. 

“No,” Eames answered quickly. “He sold us out once, and I’m sure he could do it again. But he’s good at what he does. As long as we keep him happy.”

Arthur nodded. “How did he sell us out before?”

“Dom and he developed a way to put us under for three dream levels, but it put us all at risk of never waking up again. They didn’t tell us that before we went under.”

“So, Dom sold us out, too?”

“Yes.”

“And we still work with him.”

“There’s not a lot of people you can trust in this business. You get used to it.”

“Did you trust me?” he asked, looking at Eames. 

Eames laughed and then leaned his head against the wall, thinking. “Generally,” he answered. “You’re good at what you do. It’s the company you kept that I didn’t trust.”

“Who?”

“Dom,” he answered quickly. Arthur was thought about that for a few seconds. 

“Did I trust you?”

Eames hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think so. You trusted that I would do my job, but you didn’t like some of the company I kept, I think. Like Yusuf.”

“You brought Yusuf on the team?” Arthur asked, still looking at Eames. Eames nodded. 

“And you think I shouldn’t tell any of them about my memory.”

Eames jaw hardened while he thought about what to say. “I don’t know,” he answered. Then quickly, “No, I don’t think we should tell them.”

“You think Dom is acting weird?” 

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t know exactly. He’s on edge. Even more than usual.”

Arthur nodded. 

They were silent for a moment. Arthur looked out the window that Eames was sitting under. The sun was setting outside, casting a rosy glow over the rooftops. 

Eames broke the silence first. “Is there anything you remember?” 

Arthur thought about it for a moment, then closed his eyes to concentrate. 

“I think,” he started, struggling. “I think I worked with computers or something.”  
“Yes,” Eames answered. 

Arthur couldn’t remember his name. He couldn’t remember his parents or if he had siblings. He couldn’t remember going to school or if he liked dancing. He couldn’t remember his first kiss or his first time driving. It’s as if every personal memory was wiped from his mind.

“I know computers,” he reaffirmed. “I know that cell networks will soon be upgraded to 5G. I know that will affect doppler.”

Then information flooded Arthur’s memory.

“I know about other things, too,” he continued “I know N-numbers don’t begin with zero.” 

Arthur opened his eyes again. Eames was watching intently. 

“And they don’t use ‘o’ or ‘i’. I know most doors that use an RFID lock remain unlocked until object passes near the door, tripping a sensor at the top...”

“Alright, alright,” Eames interrupted. Arthur stopped and looked at Eames again. 

“I probably shouldn’t have told you any of that,” Arthur said. 

Eames ignored him. 

“You know all that but not your name.”  
Arthur nodded. 

“Do you know what a PASIV is?” he asked.

Arthur concentrated for a moment. “No,” he answered. 

Eames sighed. “This was deliberate. Someone’s been in your head.”

Arthur frowned. He still wasn’t sure he believed Eames about being dreamshare. 

“Let’s say you’re right. Who do you think could have pulled this off?”

“Who could have pulled off a memory wipe this specific? I would have said only a handful of people,” Eames answered. 

“You would have said?”

“If you had asked me two days ago, I would have said the only people capable of a job like this were the people in this house.”

Arthur thought for a moment, then ran a hand over his face. 

“Alright,” he sighed. “Tell me what I need to know for tomorrow. We’ll need to keep this quiet until I figure out what to do next. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I have updated the rating and I will be updating tags as the story progresses. In this chapter there is a type of assault of another human being. I will post the details of this in the end notes if you want to check before reading. 
> 
> Sorry if this is too much warning/too much ado. I guess I'd always rather over-warn rather than under-warn, if that makes sense.
> 
> Future warnings: I haven't written these characters to be very empathetic people or good guys. I went hard with the criminal theme in this story, so they will act in morally objectionable ways.

During the two days Arthur was missing, Eames distracted himself by focusing on the job.  Cobol had recruited Dom for an extraction from a high-level executive at a competing dreamshare research company. Since Cobol still considered Dom in their debt, Eames assumed Dom jumped at the opportunity to free himself.

With a quick online search, Eames found the name of an accountant who worked in the same building as their mark.  He found her social media accounts, memorizing her face and her interests.  In one photo, she stood in front of a red luxury sedan, presenting it as if it were a prize on a game show.  _ Lucky,  _ he thought to himself, noting the license plate number. 

That afternoon, he parked his rental car outside the entrance of the parking garage and waited for the little red car. At five o’clock exactly, the car pulled out of the garage. He followed it to a local bar.  He waited in the car for fifteen minutes, then followed her inside.

She had chosen a place with an outdoor patio - something he had noticed was very popular for a city that was muggy and hot even after sunset. He scanned the room for her - she was talking to a man at the bar. It was perfect, he realized, for a quick and easy seduction. 

He walked to the bar and stood next to her, on the opposite side of the man. She was sipping a pink cocktail. When the bartender asked for his drink, he made sure to talk loudly, more so than required to overpower the music pumping through the stereo system.  The woman’s attention shifted to him for a second, and he knew the job was already over. 

She turned back to the man and they began talking again. When the bartender handed him his drink, he made sure to bump into her enough that she’d spill her drink. 

“Oh pardon me,” Eames said, moving to help soak up her drink. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said, her tone a little thin. 

“Let me buy you another, please,” Eames insisted. 

She dabbed at her shirt with a napkin. “Ok,” she answered. “Thanks.”

“Of course. It’s the least I could do.”

“Are you British?” she asked, she had already begun to swing her body toward him. Eames noticed the other man rolled his eyes behind her. 

Eames looked back at the woman and smiled. 

She took him back to her flat. It was a small, dark one-bedroom place with ceramic tile floors and an oversized couch in the far corner. There was a sign reading  _ Live, Laugh, Love  _ on the wall.

“Something to drink?” she asked. 

“Water, please.”

She disappeared around the corner and he took the opportunity to take a better look at the place. He could see into the bedroom - nick-nacks and jewelry sat on top of the dresser. 

She returned with a glass of water and a tumbler of something clear. She smiled at him and took a long gulp. 

“I just want to freshen up,” she said after swallowing. She put the glass on an end table and turned toward the bathroom. She turned and waved at him before closing the door. 

While she was freshening up, he slipped a pill bottle from his pocket and dropped one of the pills into her drink. 

She returned a moment later and he made an excuse of being lightheaded.They moved to the couch for a bit. She was asleep within fifteen minutes. From his other pocket, he pulled a small square device then moved quietly around the flat, searching for her purse. 

He found it sitting on the counter in the kitchen. He fished inside for her employee key card then ran the card through the device which beeped. Later, he would use the device to find the frequency of her RFID and duplicate the card. 

He made his way into the bedroom and searched the jewelry pile on top of her dresser. A few cheap pieces, he noted, and left the jewelry alone.

He left her flat and walked back to his rental car. It was the middle of the night, and the world around him was still and quiet. He listened as his shoes scraped the sidewalk and his mind wandered back to Arthur again. Capable, brilliant Arthur, who was probably fine, he thought. Dependable Arthur, who would have called by now. Something was wrong, he concluded. 

The next day he bought the supplies needed to duplicate the key card.  This work was usually his least favorite because it was mentally undemanding.  But today, he could let his mind wander while he worked. And, of course, though he tried willing it elsewhere, his mind wandered to Arthur. He wondered why Dom didn’t seem worried about Arthur, his partner for the last ten years.  Of course, Dom had tried calling every number he had of Arthur’s, and he’d stomped around the office for the past two days, cursing and huffing when Arthur didn’t pick up. But Eames thought Dom seemed to be making a show of his frustration.

_ Dom was hiding something,  _ he concluded. But, of course, Eames was hiding something, too. 

He arrived back at the mark’s workplace at noon, hoping most people had left for lunch. He wandered through the parking garage for a bit, checking for the red sedan, but found it wasn’t there. He hoped she had taken the day off to sleep off what would feel like a nasty hangover. 

Making his way through the building using his memory of the maps Cobol had managed to supply them and the duplicated keycard, he made his way to the seventh floor, wandering until he found the mark’s office.

He peeked inside - the place was littered with papers and books. There was a laptop sitting on the desk, still open. Either their mark was sloppy, or he was coming back soon. Eames had to be quick. 

He was careful not to kick the piles of papers and books on the floor and made his way to the laptop. He started a download from a remote server - a spyware program that would allow them to access his calendar and contacts. They could finally start planning the extraction.  _ This isn’t how Arthur would have done this,  _ Eames thought to himself, but he pushed the thought from his mind. Yes, it was sloppy, but Eames often thrived in tense situations. 

He watched the download, wishing it would move quicker. Then he heard footsteps in the hallway. 

_ Shit,  _ he thought to himself. The download was about two-thirds done. If he were better with computers, he would have known how to download this in the background.  _ Just another thing Arthur would have done better _ , he thought. 

The download bar on the screen kept crawling along. He could hear the footsteps coming this way. 

_ Come on, come on, _ he whispered to the screen. 

Finally, download was complete. If Eames guessed, the person walking in the hallway would be here any second now. He cleared the screen on the laptop and stood up quickly. 

“What are you doing in here?” 

Eames swung around toward the door and found their mark staring at him. 

“I’m with the property management company,” Eames lied. He used an American accent just in case someone in accounting had told stories about a mysterious British man. “You have to clean all this up,” he said, gesturing to indicate the papers. “We have a fire inspection overdue.”

The mark stared at him for a second, and Eames tried his best to look like an impatient landlord. 

“Fine,” he said. “Now if you don’t mind.” The man gestured to the door. Eames nodded a kind of thanks and walked through the papers to the door. 

***

Now Eames watched Arthur, who had fallen asleep sometime in the early morning after Eames explained all he cared to reveal about the past ten years . Arthur was more propped against the blow-up mattress than lying on it. He bent down and shook Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Come on,” he said when Arthur’s eyes opened. “We have to get to work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eames slips a woman a sleeping pill in order to rob her.


End file.
